Winning the Cowboy

by Emma St Clair

  It was just too surprising. Ridiculous.

  He tried to cover the laugh bubbling out with a cough, but it didn’t work. Adele smacked his chest.

  “Ow!”

  “You can’t laugh at that! It’s not funny!”

  “It isn’t! I know!”

  But Elton was wheezing now from the effort to hold back the laughter. Just when he thought it was done, the name popped back into his head. Fatty McGinger Bottom. Who comes up with a name like that?

  “Elton!” she shouted.

  He couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped this time. “I’m so sorry, Adele. It’s not funny. It’s not. I’m really mad about it. I want to beat those kids up for you.”

  And yet he laughed so hard that tears rolled down his face.

  “You are the worst.” But a giggle escaped as she spoke. Her hand slapped over her mouth.

  His face spun to hers, and when their eyes met, there was a brief pause. Elton could have sworn even the night sounds outside hushed.

  And then they were both laughing. Hysterical, loud guffaws. Inglorious. Unattractive. Uncontrollable.

  Adele bent over at the waist, as though this would somehow help the situation. She snorted, and Elton only laughed harder, pointing.

  “You’re … terrible,” she managed to gasp out. “So … mean.”

  “It’s just … the name … I can’t …”

  Elton struggled to breathe. The collar of his T-shirt was drenched with the tears that had slid down his cheeks and neck.

  She smacked him again, and Elton captured her hand, holding it in place over his heart. His laughter finally slowed. His abdomen ached. Still breathing heavy, their eyes met.

  Makeup smudged around her eyes. Seeing his gaze land there, Adele wiped it, making it worse. “Better?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched, and her eyes narrowed. Angry, with makeup awry, Adele was still—always—the most beautiful woman in the world. “You look great.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say that she was beautiful. She wouldn’t believe him, for one thing.

  He was a coward, for another.

  Rolling her eyes, she made a frustrated sound. “You and that sweet-talking mouth of yours.”

  It’s not sweet-talking if it’s the truth.

  He didn’t say that either.

  When he could speak steadily, Elton held her gaze. “I am so sorry kids were mean to you. Truly. I am. You didn’t—and don’t—deserve that.”

  Her eyes warmed. “Thank you.”

  “Makes me want to track down those guys and pulverize them.”

  Adele nudged his ankle monitor with her socked foot. He trapped her foot between his. “Touché,” he said.

  “Hey,” Adele protested, wiggling her foot. But she didn’t try too hard to get away. Elton wasn’t about to let her. When she finally relaxed, leaving her foot sandwiched between his, he let that fuel his confidence.

  Taking a deep breath, he lifted her hand from his chest and kissed it. “You are beautiful, Adele. Simply gorgeous. And for the record, I love your red hair.”

  He stopped short of saying he also loved her body. That would be too much, reveal too much. Especially when it was clear that she didn’t carry the same torch for him that he did for her.

  “You know you’re not … fat, right?” His words were cautious.

  She huffed. “Of course I know that. But even if I were bigger than I am, which is a completely average size, that would be okay too. I’ve always been curvy. I’m comfortable in my skin. Took some work to get here. Still does, sometimes.”

  She chewed her lip. It was a moment of vulnerability that he rarely saw in the strong and confident woman.

  Again, Elton had to bite back comments that he meant as compliments but sounded very skeevy in his head. Like how much he liked her skin and her curves. She started talking again, saving him from probably crossing a line or jamming his foot into his mouth.

  “It’s just … my job kind of brings it all to the surface. I may be average, but I’m not the average size of people doing what I do. I deal with a lot of haters.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep. I just delete and block. Sometimes their words get to me. Most of the time, they don’t.”

  Elton made a note to get an Instagram account. Why he hadn’t done so before now, if for no other reason than to look at Adele, he had no idea.

  “I hope my laughter didn’t offend you. It was just … that name.”

  Her lips twitched. “It really is ridiculous.”

  That set them both off again. Elton reared his head on the back of the couch, his face turned toward the ceiling as his whole body shook. Adele snuggled into him, her head against his chest, and he put his arm around her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  After a moment or two, they both stilled. He found that his fingers were running through the silky strands of her hair. It was as soft as he’d always imagined.

  “The name is hilarious. But I’m sure it wasn’t when you were in junior high. I’m sorry you went through that.”

  “It was especially awful having it shouted at you through the middle school cafeteria.”

  “They shouted that at you during lunch?” The caveman fury was back. He could imagine a pint-sized Adele, eyes bright with tears as kids teased her.

  “Yep. This whole pack of boys.”

  “Boys?!” For some reason, he had been picturing girls. Little girls. Mean girls. But boys? Yelling that name at his Adele? Elton’s skin flamed with a rising fury. “I’m going to kill them.”

  She scoffed. But when she spoke, he could hear the smile in her voice. “They’re grown now, dummy. And you played football with a lot of them.”

  The rage only increased. “Which ones? I mean it, Adele. Tell me which guys called you that name. I will—”

  Adele glared at him. “You will nothing. I handled it. Simmer down, Cowboy.”

  There was no simmering. He would find out. And he would make those guys pay. Once he wasn’t wearing an ankle monitor, that is. For now, though, he pretended to be calm. He was furious. But didn’t want his anger to ruin this moment, which was the closest he had ever come to being romantic with Adele. And she wasn’t running away or fighting him off or asking where Easton was.

  “What do you mean, you handled it?” he asked, trying to distract himself from his overactive imagination. Which was now hoping Easton would stay wherever he was and not interrupt this good thing he had going on here at home.

  She snuggled closer, her cheek against his T-shirt. Elton tried to breathe in her floral scent without being too obvious about it. He also tried not to love this too much.

  Because he knew it wouldn’t last. She would remember in a few minutes that she was into his twin and pull away, leaving him bereft of her warmth and sweet smell. He continued to stroke her hair, going against hope that he was wrong, that this wouldn’t be the last time he got the chance to snuggle with her like this, touching her beautiful hair.

  “The guys who did it all sat behind me at lunch. Out of nowhere one day, they just started yelling it. Took me a hot minute to realize that they were talking about me. The thing is, outside of lunch, in class, they were all my friends. They sat beside me. We joked about Ms. Fenway’s terrible French accent and talked about the Astros’ games. But then at lunch, it was like they turned on me.”

  She blew out a shuddery breath, then continued. His heart constricted in his chest. No matter what she said about handling it, he still wanted to go back in time and beat the heck out of whatever boy dared insult her. Especially knowing they were boys who had pretended to be her friends. Maybe he could still find them now …

  “When this had been going on for about a week, I had enough. I sat down next to Jared in French right after lunch, and I met his eyes. I was furious. And when I stared at him like that, he looked guilty. He couldn’t meet my eyes. I could see that he felt terrible. I thought maybe … maybe it would stop.”

  “Adel
e…”

  “No. It’s okay.”

  She squeezed his hand, then froze, as though suddenly realizing that she was cuddling with Elton, her head on his chest, her hand in his, and his other hand in her hair. He held his breath, waiting for her to pull away. Instead, she relaxed into him again. Warmth expanded in his chest.

  “The next day at lunch, it continued. And after lunch, Jared looked just as guilty. He didn’t say anything, and neither did I. So before lunch the day after that, I asked Ashley to switch seats with me. I’d had my back to those boys before. Now, I faced them. And I spent the entire lunch period making eye contact. Glaring. Not letting them look away.”

  Elton wanted to squeeze her tighter. He wanted to capture this beautiful, strong woman in his arms. To hold and protect her, even though she clearly didn’t need that kind of help. The situation was years past. Even so, it was almost a physical urge he had to fight.

  “They couldn’t do it looking me in the eye. So, it stopped.”

  When she tilted her head to look up at him, Elton’s breath lodged in his throat. He had never wanted to kiss her so badly. It was an urge he’d fought for years, but he’d never had the occasion to be so close to her kissable, luscious lips.

  “You, my darling, are a force to be reckoned with.” He tapped her on the nose, once, and somehow kept himself from letting that finger drag over her lips.

  “I really am, aren’t I?” She grinned up at him, looking like the cat who ate the cream.

  Giving her hair a slight tug, Elton grinned right back. “My kind of girl. Now, how about we watch Pretty Woman, but rag on the not-real redhead and the patriarchy?”

  “Deal.”

  There was plenty to say about the storyline and how much they both hated it, plus the dated clothing and gigantic phones everyone used. Two words: shoulder pads.

  By the time the timer went off for the brownies, Adele was at the point of throwing popcorn at the screen.

  “Don’t you need to get the brownies?”

  He did. But Adele had not moved from her spot snuggled against him, and Elton feared that if he got up, that would be the end of it. “I guess I do,” he said, not moving.

  “Elton?” She nudged him. “I really like your mama’s brownies.”

  Sighing, Elton slowly peeled away from Adele, giving her an exaggerated shove that sent her toppling over on the couch. She threw a handful of popcorn at him.

  “Hey! Save that to throw at the chauvinists and the fake redhead!” He pointed to the television. She tossed more popcorn.

  Elton was still laughing when he got to the kitchen and picked up the oven mitts. “Alright, alright. Calm down. Let me get these out and I’ll turn you off,” he said to the timer.

  If it was weird that he talked to inanimate objects, so be it. When he opened the oven, the scent of warm brownies hit him. As did a memory.

  He sat at the kitchen table, his skinny legs swinging a few inches above the floor in his worn jeans. Across the table, Easton sat completely still, arms folded and his eyes on their mother.

  Mama. She was humming, and in the memory, Elton followed Easton’s gaze just as she opened the oven door.

  He could feel the wave of heat at the table, just as he could now. The same smell: warm chocolate goodness. The same sound of the insistent timer.

  And then his mother clanged the pan down on the stovetop, using her foot to kick the oven closed as she reached for the timer. “Shut yer yapping,” she had said, and with a snap, turned off the timer.

  “Elton?”

  He spun, almost dropping the pan of brownies. Adele stood in the doorway, staring at him. Not in his eyes or at the pan of brownies. But at his cheeks.

  Why was she …?

  I’m crying.

  The moment lasted less than a second, but it felt like the longest moment of his life. No, that’s not right. The longest moment was the one where the police came to the door to explain about the accident that killed his parents.

  Maybe even longer was the moment when Elton had to tell Easton after he got home.

  He spun, giving Adele his back. As though everything were normal, he set the brownies on the stovetop and flicked off the timer. Then he swiped his hand over his cheeks. The oven door stood open still, its heat overwhelming him. Elton slammed it closed.

  He could not face Adele. Instead, he clutched the counter with both hands, leaning over with his head down.

  It was okay to cry. He knew this. Elton was no Pretty Woman-era Richard Gere. Not a chauvinist. Not someone who thought guys needed to be tough and bury their emotions.

  And yet, no one had seen him cry. Not even at his parents’ funeral three years ago.

  Elton was the happy twin. The bright twin. The loudmouth. Certainly not the broody, emotional one. That was Easton’s job. Though, truth be told, Easton was way more stoic than emotional. Broody, yes. But he hadn’t cried either, at least not that Elton ever saw. Which probably meant that he, like Elton, only cried alone.

  “There’s Blue Bell in the freezer,” Elton said. His voice sounded rough and flat.

  He heard the freezer door open behind him, felt the blast of cold against the back of his neck.

  When Adele’s hands snaked around his waist, he jumped. She didn’t let go, but wrapped them tighter, one of her hands on his chest and the other in the center of his abs. She squeezed, and he felt her cheek come to rest on his back.

  They didn’t say a word. Elton did not move. Not for a few seconds. But she didn’t let up, and exhaling a long, slow breath, Elton let go of his grip on the counter and slid his hands over hers.

  He let the tears slip down his cheeks now, saw one splash on the countertop. Another made its way down into the collar of his T-shirt, still damp from the tears of laughter earlier.

  “Adele—”

  Before his mouth could say more than he might have wanted it to, the screen door swung open and Easton walked into the kitchen.

  He stopped as both of their heads jerked toward him. For a brief second, they all froze. And then Adele jumped back, tugging her hands away. Elton let her go.

  “Easton!” she said, and Elton hated the forced cheer in her tone, the way it sounded like someone who had been caught.

  Elton turned away to the sink, watching the reflection in the darkened window as Adele crossed the room and gave Easton a huge hug.

  “You should watch the movie with us,” Adele said.

  Her words slid into Elton’s heart like one of those blades that’s so sharp, you don’t register the pain at first. And he didn’t. Not then. More of a numbness.

  He didn’t even feel it when he begged off being tired and went to bed, not caring if Adele finished the movie with his brother or not.

  It wasn’t until the next morning when he got up to find popcorn still all over the floor and a sticky ring of melted vanilla ice cream on the counter that he finally felt the pain.

  Chapter Eleven

  Adele

  Adele still couldn’t put her finger on why she woke up with a sick feeling swirling around in her stomach. It was a nagging sense of discomfort, like when she left the house and couldn’t remember if she’d left her flat iron plugged in. Only, she couldn’t quite put her finger on the source of this.

  It had started when Easton walked into the kitchen the night before.

  Her arms had been around Elton, her cheek pressed to his back in somewhat of an awkward, but also totally intimate, hug. The realization of how much she enjoyed being with the twin who always drove her crazy had unfolded slowly over the night. It culminated in that kitchen embrace and his rare vulnerability.

  Then Easton stood there, staring. Or, at least, she imagined that he was staring. Even though Adele had been the one with the feelings, not Easton—at least, not that he ever let on—her brain stuttered to a stop. She felt like she had been caught. Like she was somehow cheating on the guy she’d been crushing on … with his brother.

  It made no sense. She could logically accept
this. And yet, when her eyes met Easton’s while her arms were wrapped around Elton, that’s exactly how she felt.

  Which led to her jumping away from Elton and giving an overly affectionate hug to Easton. Oh, and inviting him to watch the movie with them. Even though the last thing she wanted was Easton joining what had started to feel like a cozy date.

  That led to Adele feeling another layer of guilt and confusion. Especially when Elton gave some poor excuse about being tired and stomped up to bed before she could say one thing about it. Easton hadn’t said one word, not that Adele gave him much of a choice when she started babbling about needing to get home. She had practically run out of the house, without even so much as getting one brownie.

  Her stomach growled at the thought, and she groaned. If she had been smart, she would have at least taken a warm brownie for the road. Or the whole pan. Later, she was meeting Cilla at the Boyd farm with the wedding planner to hammer out details about the ceremony and reception.

  Which meant … seeing Elton. Maybe Easton too.

  Adele needed to sort out her feelings, and she needed to do it fast. She slipped on a pair of bright green flats and locked up the house. If she didn’t have to admit that Cilla was right, Adele would have already called her best friend to spill about her feelings for Elton. But maybe she needed some impartial ears. Someone who hadn’t known them all since high school.

  Maybe Kat? Adele was meeting her for coffee to plan out content for the month. But maybe there would be time for a little girl talk.

  After they were settled with their coffees, Adele realized with a start that Jem wasn’t there. “Where’s your little lady?”

  “With my mom. It feels so weird to be able to have two whole arms free!” Kat stretched her arms out wide, which revealed more of the ink on her arms. “I can even drink coffee without worrying about it spilling and scalding Jem.”

  Adele laughed and took a sip of her mocha. “Tell me about your tattoos. Does each one have a story?”

  “How long do you have?” Kat shook her head and laughed. “Yeah, they do. It’s funny. If I didn’t have Jem, I probably wouldn’t have any tattoos.”